


Suna

by Zaikyo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-17
Updated: 2012-10-17
Packaged: 2017-11-16 11:52:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/539131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zaikyo/pseuds/Zaikyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Think of sand."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Suna

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: Lucifer comforts Sam from his nightmares.

Sam doesn't know what he dreams about. Sam _never_ knows what he dreams about, save for the chilling impressions each one leaves etched in his skin like permanent goosebumps. Ugly, horrifying flashes of shadowy things left in the dark for no one to find, but everyone to be found by. Creeping limbs and sagging faces, brutalized screams torn away with the imaginary winds. They never leave Sam. They're always there, scratching away at his subconscious mind, breathing rancid realities into his ear. They echo. They linger.

Tonight isn't much different, though Sam had already known it wouldn't be, couldn't be even if he'd prayed for it, something he'd given up months ago. No, tonight is just like any other night. There's a blur in his vision, a darkness not at all far behind the scale of his shadow, a burn in the hollow of his legs and he's running— running with nothing and no one in sight. From what or from whom, it really doesn't matter at this point. All Sam knows— all he _needs_ to know is that it's there, ready and waiting to eat him alive if he so much as falters.

And yet Sam _always_ falters; always manages to trip, to stumble, to run out of breath and fall. It's predestined, Sam's realized. It's made to end before it even starts and yet he still can't manage to give up beforehand, can't surrender over to the darkness willingly. And that's his real nightmare; the knowing that he can't ever give up, even when that's the only thing he really wants, and that it's just so damn easy. That's what keeps Sam sweating and jerking in his sleep until the trip, the stumble, the fall to the invisible earth beneath him. And those hands— belonging to no one and nothing in particular— reaching out to him with vicious precision, swallow his screams into a quiet void until he wakes in violent shudders.

 

Shudders, stifled by cool arms wrapping round his chest like safety belts from behind. Strong and smooth, something like ancient marble, Lucifer holds his body close to Sam's in cloaking protectiveness, hand grazing the surface of that matted scalp, easing the frayed hunter into quiet calmness.

And Sam remembers. In the slowing franticness of his mind's defenses he remembers the Devil, remembers his slow growing visits, his past flights to Sam'a aid. Sam remembers he has someone now, a winged thing with no place or purpose other than to sweep him into his arms and shield away the blackness. Sam remembers Lucifer's swear, much too sudden and all to solemnly said at the time, to _be there._ To _save him._

 

Doesn't matter what anyone else says about Satan. He makes good on his promises.

 

"Think of sand."

And Sam hears that, knows where it came from by the vibrations of the Devil's voice sending ripples through his skin, but for the life of him can't begin to understand.

Lucifer though, Lucifer knows that. Lucifer always knows.

 

"Think of sand," he says again. "Think of mounds and mounds of sand. A sea of grains going on for miles, far beyond what you could possibly see. Think of them as the winds blow by quietly, gathering up whatever they please and spreading it across uneven planes to be lost to the same spot forever. Think of that, when you fall off to sleep."

To which Sam can't imagine why that would be Lucifer's advice. Perhaps it's apart of some ancient wisdom unknown to anyone under two thousand years or so. Or maybe not, Sam doesn't really know. But he trusts it, trusts the Devil knows what he needs, what can help.

And so he thinks of sand.

Sam thinks of millions and billions and unfathomable illions of weightless grains, shifting like pollen across the endless skies. He thinks of them from that moment on, until the oddest, subtlest, quietest slumber lulls over him, and he can't remember to think any longer.

 

Sam believes he dreams of sand that night, though he doesn't know for sure. Sam _never_ knows quite what it is he dreams about.

 

But he wonders, wonders for a very long time whether or not the sand thing actually worked. Or rather, maybe, it was the soft voice sounding strangely of wind, floating like echoes around his ears for what may have been the entire night.

**Author's Note:**

> So interesting side note about the title you can basically skip over: My favorite band since the day I discovered them in the seventh grade has been this jrock band, Nightmare. Haven't been able to listen to them as much lately as I used to, but then I get this prompt and I think "nightmares— Nightmare. I've got to use one of their song titles!" Had a few in mind, but then I came across Suna, one of my favorites. I would listen to it on repeat when I had a really bad headache/emotional distress thing going on. Reason is, the title literally translates to "Sand." And to me it reminds me of mounds and mounds of sand, falling away slowly with the wind. Kind of dumb, but that was my whole middle school self for you.


End file.
